


Oatmeal (This is not art.)

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-01
Updated: 2008-05-01
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: "Oatmeal," Ray said, his voice all righteousness, and his face above Fraser was the face of Justice.





	Oatmeal (This is not art.)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Oatmeal (This is not art.)

## Oatmeal (This is not art.)

  
by malnpudl  


Disclaimer: Due South and its characters belong to Alliance Atlantis and a bunch of other people who are not me. This is just for fun, not for profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: My friend Pat said to me: "I love you for many reasons, but one of the main ones is your ability to subvert ANY SUBJECT IN THE WORLD to slash." When I got smug, she threatened to challenge me with random prompts, starting with "oatmeal." Ergo, this is all her fault.

* * *

Fraser's sweaty hands slipped on the wooden rails of the headboard and he almost lost his grip, regaining it only when threatened with Ray's disapproving glower. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face and across his scalp. He could feel it in his armpits and on his chest and trickling over his belly until it pooled in his navel.  
  
He'd been seconds away from coming for, dear lord, it felt like forever. Ray had brought him up to an incandescent frenzy and then held him there, relentless and unmerciful, keeping him right on the edge.  
  
Fraser writhed on the damp sheet, his cock aching for the touch that Ray withheld. He wrapped his his legs more tightly around Ray's shoulders and thrust upward with his hips, desperate for more, for Ray to pound into him deep and hard and send him over the edge. "Ray!" he begged, all pride forsaken. "Ray, please!"  
  
"Nuh-uh." Ray shook his head and sweat drops flew, landing hot and wet on Fraser's chest. "You're gonna pay. You don't get to come until I say so."  
  
"Pay?" Fraser managed. "But... why?"  
  
Ray found Fraser's prostate with the head of his cock and parked on it, rubbing back and forth over it with tiny half-inch strokes, enough to madden and inflame but not enough to grant release, and Fraser's moan cracked and broke into a helpless wail of need.   
  
"Oatmeal," Ray said, his voice all righteousness, and his face above Fraser was the face of Justice.  
  
"Oatmeal?" Fraser gasped between panting breaths.  
  
Ray bit Fraser's nipple, shooting white hot pleasure through him. "You fed me oatmeal for breakfast _three days_ in a row this week. You know I _hate_ oatmeal."  
  
"I'm sorry!" Fraser would have said anything Ray wanted to hear in that moment, anything at all. "I'm sorry, Ray, I didn't... I wasn't... oh, God, Ray, please! Oh, please, now!"  
  
Ray's eyes narrowed. Mercy, it seemed, was not to be meted out lightly. "You sure you're sorry?" he asked, and withdrew his cock almost all the way until only the head remained inside Fraser.  
  
"Yes! Oh, don't, Ray!" He thrust desperately upward, trying to impale himself, but Ray carefully held himself at his chosen depth. "Ray!" Fraser wailed. "Ray!"  
  
Ray, at long last, was merciful. He drove into Fraser hard and fast, each thrust a surging wave of blinding heat that built and crested, one atop the other, until Fraser shattered, crying out in a voice he could no longer recognize as his own.  
  
Afterward, once he could breathe again, once he could find words again, Fraser turned on his side and looked at Ray lying beside him, heat radiating from his uncharacteristically still body, his eyes closed and his unruly blonde hair dark with sweat.  
  
"So," Fraser said, brushing a damp lock of hair off of Ray's forehead. "This is what happens when I feed you oatmeal for breakfast?"  
  
Ray grunted. "Yep."  
  
Fraser felt a smile creep over his face. "You realize, don't you, that there may be a flaw in your strategy?"  
  
"Huh?" Ray turned his head and cracked one eye to peer at Fraser. "Oh," he said. "Oops."  
  
~ fin ~ 

  
 

* * *

End Oatmeal (This is not art.) by malnpudl 

Author and story notes above. 

Please post a comment on this story.   
Read posted comments. 

 


End file.
